the taint of regret and bloodlust
by sugartina
Summary: Quinn is a cannibal. She whisks someone away, as she is prone to do - but Rachel Berry is far more persistent than Quinn could have ever imagined. Slightly cracky. Crossposted from AO3.
1. Chapter 1

The first time it happens, it's pure anger. A lecherous man had made passes at Quinn the whole evening, rubbing his greasy hands across his mustache and asking if he could order Quinn instead one of the drinks.

She ends up all winks and grins, letting him follow her to her car, undressing him in the kitchen, sinking the knife into his chest. The blood pools around her fingers and flesh under her fingernails and she lets him slump to the ground, pulling the blade out and wiping it on his shirt.

Where would usually be panic was instead a sick sense of humour. 'I bet you'd love this, you sick ass,' she mutters, not unaware of the irony as she carves out a slice of his leg, curiously balances it on her knife, before tentatively placing it on an oil flecked pan.

The next time, it's pure curiosity. The man had been devoured, and Quinn wanted to see more. She finds a woman screaming at people to repent, as if speaking from the xenophobic text book. Quinn resists cringing as she reaches back to her past, pulling the good Christian daughter with both hands to the forefront. Promising tea and bible discussion.

Even the second time, it's easier, and soon the oven sizzles away.

After that, she stops thinking about it, and notes it down in a small green notepad, cryptically, as to hide her true intentions. It wouldn't do, really, to be caught out.

The only obvious star may be the small one on her uniform, but Rachel knows she's more than that, really.

 _It'll just take a while to prove it_. That's what she reminded herself as she carried too hot plates to customers, receiving an awkward thanks or a sheepish grin in return. Customers were rarely rude, and when they were, a sharp glare quelled them. It's one of the few victories she gets.

Sidling into the kitchen, she placed dirty plates next to the sink, before declaring her break to Gunther and heading to the tiny back room the employees called rest.

'You seem done already.' Rachel said to Dani, the eyeliner clad waitress who was, as always, fiddling with the tiny tuning pegs of her guitar.

'I've had to play _that song_ 3 times today. Already.' Dani bemoaned, thwacking her head back against the soft notice board.

They refused to speak of the song, for it was rumoured if they did, it would awaken a horde of customers heavily amused by their own jokes, begging to hear it sung.

'I'm so sorry,' Rachel murmured, tenderly placing an arm around Dani's shoulders. They smiled at each other, and didn't speak again, listening to the quiet chords Dani magicked up with the strings.

All too soon, Gunther's voice rang through the diner, and they got back to work, singing their hearts out and almost enjoying themselves.

They walked halfway home together before splitting apart. Rachel promised to tell Kurt, her cynical yet kind flat mate, hi, and waved Dani away.

Kurt was out when Rachel got to the flat, a small note stating he was at Blaine's place for the weekend. Rachel smiled at it, a small smile, held back by guilty jealousy.

She stripped free of the uniform and dropped it into the laundry basket, before running a bath. Sinking into the pink bubbles, she rested the back of her head on the green plastic and her body against the hot base of it. Closing her eyes. Focusing on pushing away her emotions and letting her senses rush in to fill the gulf.

The city was quiet tonight. All she heard was the drips from the leaky tap, and the occasional car on the street below.

She could smell soaps and shampoos, all rich and sensuous. The rain outside, drifting through the window.

She could taste toothpaste from before the bath, the steam of the water.

A cold breeze brushed over her arms, breaking them out into gooseflesh, whilst her body was surrounded by heat and comforting water.

Opening her eyes, the old bathroom met them, new shower head nestled between 30-year-old tiles and taps.

It wasn't glamourous. It wasn't even the boho aesthetic she'd hoped for. But really, it had become home for her.

It had been a month since Quinn had eaten. She'd had _food_ , of course, but her larder had run dry of that which she loved.

Time to change that.

She drove the large car, cloaked in darkness, through the streets to the park, leaving it in the smaller car park no-one used. Her boots were soft on the spring grass, and she was careful to avoid stepping on any sticks. The morning light lit up her dark brown coat, the strands of blonde peeking out from under an oversized maroon beanie.

Even if she didn't find anyone, it wasn't a waste. The walk was pleasant to justify itself, with the gentle breeze playing through the air, moist soil rich with life. Quinn felt connected, as she brushed dew away from her shoulders.

 _There_. A woman, around her own age, brown hair, reading on a bench. _On the Line_ , some history book, that she seemed intently focused on, enough that Quinn could get close enough to read the blurb.

'Broadway, huh? Aren't we a bit far away from New York for that?'

Quinn would have laughed at Rachel's jump of shock if It wasn't for her frankly alarmingly fast recovery rate.

'Though we may be physically far from it, I personally believe one's passions should never be bound by such trivial things as the laws of physics.'

'Oh? Do tell.'

Rachel's brow furrowed for a moment, and she studied Quinn, before her face went neutral again. 'I'm not sure why you're so interested, but I shall indulge you. Many playwrights have written their scrips far away from the theatre itself. Some took years to be performed. And you find many actresses who only get the chance to express their powerful talent long after they originally planned.'

For the first time in a long while, Quinn was thrown. People were rarely so passionate. She wondered, fleetingly, whether the stranger was so passionate about anything else, but filed that away for possible future reference.

'What's your name, then, theatre nut I've just met?'

'Rachel Barbra Berry. And yours, curious albeit harmless seeming stranger?'

'Quinn.' _Harmless? Oh sure, I'll go with that._ 'This is strange, but, I go to a literature discussion group, I think you'd enjoy it.' That wasn't a lie. 'I can drive you there?' That was.

The rope dug into Rachel's ankles as she opened her eyes, immediately shutting them against the bright whiteness.

She was still wearing her shirt and skirt, but her coat and shoes lay in the corner of the room. She was on a raised surface of some kind, a cold metal _something_ beneath her. The only noise was the sharp _shing_ of knife on stone.


	2. Chapter 2

'You're awake. I shouldn't dawdle enough like that, but, we all have our off days.'

Quinn was stood above Rachel, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, a thin, flexible apron attached around her waist.

The kitchen was cool, a double window opening to a large garden of greens and blues. Decked in purples and blacks, with the cupboard doors being white, Quinn kept it clean, uncluttered.

Rachel would have admired it if she wasn't terrified.

'I'm not going to cater to you with false cries for help, or mercy. _Cleary_ , you are beyond morality. Perhaps you think you're above it, that wouldn't surprise me.'

G-d, Rachel had been stupid. She'd followed a stranger, a completely random woman, back to her car without a second thought. _I really must be desperate_.

Pushing that away, she focused on the immediate needs. She was tied up. But if knots were made by humans, they could be undone. Gently, enough that it was almost imperceptible, she fiddled with the rope around her hands, struggling against the weight of her back against it, but wary of moving too much.

'I must admit,' Quinn began, placing the thick blade down on a marble countertop. 'It's refreshing. On the rare times people wake before, well, the obvious happens, there's an awful lot of screaming and mess.' A smile of pearly white deviousness. 'Thank you, for your cooperation.'

 _There._ Looseness around her left wrist, Rachel slowly slid her hand down, giving her fingers freedom to work on the tight, layered knots directly. 'You can hardly blame them.' Digging her nails between two lines of twine. 'It must be quite shocking to wake up in a kitchen so clean.'

A chuckle left Quinn's lips, and her smile seemed genuine for a moment, searching through a rotating rack of slender spice bottles. 'Paprika, garlic, and thyme, what do you think? With a zest of lemon?' Quinn tilted her head and studied a frowning Rachel. 'What spices do you usually have with your roasts? I value your opinion.'

'I'm vegan.' Even for a murderer, Quinn had a sick sense of humour.

'Oh! Grass fed. Wonderful.' There was that grin again, a dark glint in hazel eyes.

For a moment, the room was still, and Rachel stopped trying to escape, as realisation sunk in. 'Ah. If you were just a murderer, you would have killed me already.' Furiously, then, she untangled the network of fiddly rope, loosening around her wrists faster than she dared think about.

'But instead, I take my time. Waste not, and all that.'

'I never actually,' Rachel felt the loop of rope slide off her hand, and breathed a slight sigh of relief, 'Eat grass, that _is_ a terribly overdone stereotype, of which someone as _clear_ intelligence, such as yourself, should be aware.'

'Of course I know, but-'in a moment, the knife was back in Quinn's hand, in another, it was pressed against Rachel's throat, the sharpness digging into skin. Quinn's other palm was pressed into Rachel's belly, hard, and she dug in her nails.

'Move a millimetre, and this knife goes through your throat. It'll slice through skin, then vocal chords and windpipe. With some _effort_ ,' Quinn dug the blade in even more and slid it slightly to the left, 'I could even break through bones and that fragile spinal cord of yours.'

Rachel felt blood rush to her head, but stilled herself, heat trickling down her neck. She didn't dare breathe, seeing the sincerity in the curve of Quinn's brow, the shine of her eyes.

'Sensible. I'm not going to knock you out.' She twisted her palm, scratching through the thin fabric. 'I imagine you would like some dignity in this. What I am going to do, is tie you back up, and then I'll decide what to do with you.' Her face softened, though her grip did not. 'If it is any consolation, you're the bravest meal I've ever had.'

Quinn moved the knife away. A small glob of red fell onto Rachel's chest, and Quinn used Rachel's now ripped shirt to clean the rest. Soon, Rachel found her hands bound to her ankles, tight enough that it hurt, and her clothes on the floor.

'Sorry,' Quinn had murmured apologetically, with a wince, 'But I really do need to see you.'

Her voice quiet, resentful, Rachel murmured 'I'm an actress. My body is hardly something I'm ashamed of. Especially considering the circumstances.' If it were other, nicer, circumstances, she would be downright proud of her body, walking around bare with not a care in the world.

As it was, she simply laid against the cool metal of the table, the gooseflesh this time not accompanied by a relaxing bath.

For a moment, Quinn stood there and simply admired Rachel, from both points of view that she could. Not only did Rachel look _delicious_ , with her long legs and toned stomach, but she was stunning, too. Eyes of brown, sparking with defiant life. Hair, cascading down to her breasts and shoulders, shining under the bright overheads.

 _No._

In order to focus, Quinn took things step by step.

 **Step the first** : Decide what to eat.

A fork in her hand, she moved in close to Rachel. First, she prodded her belly, nodding in appreciation. Next, the round of her ass, twice, to check the firmness. Finally, Quinn gave Rachel's calve an experimental squeeze, then a sharp poke with the fork. _Perfect._

 **Step the second:** Mark where to cut.

Marking pens were reasonably cheap, and lasted a long while. It was hardly as if Quinn sold the meat she caught – goodness, no. She made the pens last, then.

It only took a second of her charting a course down Rachel's plump calve to hear a tutting, and a second more for a sigh. She looked up, arched a blonde brow, and met Rachel's eyes. 'Something to share with the class?'

 **Step the third:** Avoid smiling.

'Shoddy art skills. If that's really where you're going to carve my leg, well, then you'll leave plenty of tender meat behind.' Rachel risked a nod. 'I'm still not a fan of the idea of being dinner, but at least put some effort into this.'

Quinn spun her pen around between two fingers, standing up again to talk to Rachel proper. 'You're vegan. What do you know about meat, let alone meat as _sumptuous_ as yourself?' Quinn gave in to the impulse, licked her lips, and gazed at Rachel, hunger burning in her stomach.

For a moment, Rachel was almost flattered.

Then she snapped back to the reality of what was happening. 'I may not eat the flesh of animals myself, but I'm far from naïve. I worked in a diner before you, shall we say, sprung me away. Sometimes, customers would order something more difficult than a burger. We had to cater to them, and some of my coworkers became dab hands at carving meat fast and efficiently. Neither of which I imagine you are.'

The twitch at the sides of Quinn's mouth had been threatening her for too long now, and all of a sudden, it won, her lips upturned, and a smile escaped the carefully carved façade.

 **Step the fourth** : Eat them, or throw caution to the wind.

The silence in the room had grown solid, stifling. Quinn had laid out her chopping board, ready for a leg of Berry, her knives, ready to slice and carve, and her spices, ready to enhance what she imagined to be a perfect flavour.

It was the knife she picked up now, running a forefinger down the solid handle, walking over to Rachel. She pressed it into her knee, at the calve, salivating already.

Looked into Rachel's resigned eyes, the fire still burning despite everything.

'I have a choice. A choice I've never made before.' She kept the knife where it was. 'I can cut through your leg, cook you up, live as normal. I wouldn't regret that. But, there's a strange Different to you. I think, before I eat you, I want you understand that.'

Her eyes travelled down Rachel's torso, to the mess of rope that trapped her wrists to her ankles.

'I could also cut through those ropes. Postpone your inevitable dinner date. You could stay in the spare room, it's been used twice in the past four years, clean sheets and everything.' Quinn took great pride in her ability to host guests.

'I'd need your assurance,' she met brown with hazel, 'That you wouldn't try to fight back, or run to tell someone, or anything. I'm sorry, I know that's unfair to you, but if you do, I'll kill you before you can get out the front door. But it'll be messy and you deserve a better end. We all do. So, Rachel Berry, what do you say?'

There was a full length mirror in the guest room, and Rachel stood still nude in front of it, rubbing the red marks out of her wrists.

Somehow, she had not only survived her encounter with a suave cannibal, she had gotten a very comfortable room out of it.

 _All temporary._

With a damp face cloth, she methodically wiped away the stretch of ink on her leg. It was foolish to think of her room as anything more than a finely carpeted larder.

Though, if larders had a collection of books beautiful as this one did, Rachel wouldn't mind spending a few days here. Or weeks, she decided, as she ran a finger down the spines, dashing from romance to histories to sci-fi. Fleetingly, a vision flashed behind her eyes of teasing Quinn about the last one, but it dissipated sooner than dust in sunlight.

 _Quinn isn't my friend. She literally wants to cook me, once she finds out what keeps me ticking._

Rachel would stay mysterious, then, for as long as she could. Hold everything back, it was a survival method.

When Rachel walked into the kitchen to find Quinn making coffee and humming a positively ancient love song, hair all spidery strands in a messy bun, wistful look on her face, she knew it would be harder than that.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer (because I forgot before,) I do not own glee. Probably for the best.

'You have a record player.'

The morning air was warm around them, Rachel flipping through a diverse collection of records, Quinn lazing on a plump sofa, flicking through the pages of a lit magazine.

'For a cannibal, you're _so_ indie, I mean, seriously.' Rachel grinned a little, when she was sure Quinn wasn't looking. 'Could use a lot more Broadway, but I enjoy your music collection.'

'Your approval is _so_ reassuring.' Came the sardonic yet amused reply.

'Oh, shush,' Rachel gently returned the heavy sleeve, making sure to put it exactly where she found it. She couldn't quite tell how Quinn organised her music, but however it was, Rachel knew better than to upset it.

She settled into a heavy armchair, sinking her back into the heavily cushioned back. 'Your home is lovely,' she complimented, before silence had a chance to set back in.

'Thank you,' Quinn answered with a smile. She was quiet for another moment, before adding 'Bought it when I moved here, had a fair bit of money saved up, so I decided to treat myself. I fell in love with the garden immediately, and the kitchen is to _die_ for.'

'Hilarious,' Rachel crossed a leg over the other, 'And what's a usual Saturday for Quinn?'

Quinn considered this, closing her magazine and gently placing it on a stack, kept under the glass coffee table. 'Well, I'm gonna go get some groceries. And some dinner, seeing as I'm keeping you around. I'd suggest avoiding the kitchen when I get back.'

'Get some clothes for me.'

A raised brow, Quinn turned to face Rachel. 'Oh?'

'As comfortable as this robe is, it'd be nice to have something more to wear.'

Quinn nodded. 'Okay, yeah. I'm gonna get dressed, then I'll head out.'

It was almost two in the afternoon when Rachel heard Quinn return. An opening door, then a heavy _thud_ from the kitchen. Very soon after, a dishevelled looking Quinn knocked on Rachel's door, laden with shopping bags.

'Had to estimate your size. You're pretty tiny, and I think you got your measurements right, but oh well. There's shirts, jeans, skirts, everything a young actress needs.'

Tentatively, Rachel took a sleek black behemoth of a bag, carefully spilling the contents out across her bed.

'Oh my word. Quinn, this is designer. How much–' Rachel looked up at Quinn, dragging her eyes away from the collection of stylish garments that now covered her bed. 'You really, really shouldn't have.'

'Consider it an apology. For how much I may have scared you. It's the very least I can do.'

'I bet you do this for all the girls.'

'Only the vegan ones.'

Rachel was standing close to Quinn, now. Close enough to see the detail in her irises, the curl of her eyelashes.

'I can't be bought with gifts, no matter how extravagant.'

'Never said you could be.'

The twitch of amusement at the sides of Quinn's eyes was similar to that which had shone whilst preparing Rachel; enough that Rachel felt a chill run down her spine.

'You'll have to win me over with pure charm.'

'No mean feat.'

'Never expected it to be.'

There was a heavy weight of tension in the air, an almost, a perhaps.

It was broken when Quinn stepped back, dropping the rest of the bags of the ground. 'I should go get dinner ready. You probably want to use the ear plugs, they're in one of the bags.'

Rachel watched Quinn leave, and pushed away the doubt that was slowly taking root in her mind.

The earplugs lay discarded next to Rachel's book, on the bedside table.

Rachel herself sat with her back against the door. Listening.

There was a bubbling noise. That had been the first thing. A pot on the stove, perhaps.

Then a ripping noise. Something soft falling to the ground.

Quinn was humming now. Rachel couldn't hear what it was, but she seemed somehow in her element.

The fear that ran through Rachel's heart at that was almost enough to make her bury her head in the pillows. Almost.

A whirring, now, getting faster, bolder. Rachel could imagine the heat from the oven, warming the room.

Rachel found herself getting chills as she heard a knife cutting through meat, drawn out slices.

A wet thump on metal. A tray? She wasn't sure.

Rachel opened the door a crack, to hear better, thin ribbon of light dancing across the plush grey carpet as she shifted.

A twist, not unlike clockwork. Shaking of something, like rain on a metal roof.

Running water.

The opening of the oven door, Quinn knew that sound, at least. The scrape of metal on metal.

A clang as it shut.

Soon after, the only noise was Quinn washing up, the sound of bare feet walking around the kitchen tiles, and the rhythmic whirring of the oven.

Suddenly feeling very tired, Rachel stripped nude and slipped under the heavy sheets. The last thing she registered before falling into a deep slumber was the smell of roasting meat and a boiling broth.

'We need to go visit my roommate,' Rachel says, Monday afternoon. 'He's going to start worrying, soon.'

Quinn had gotten back from her job at the bar. Still dressed in black jeans and a flannel shirt, her shoes lay on the floor, next to her handbag. 'Your roommate?'

'He's called Kurt. He writes for vogue. He knows I can take care of myself, but, it's best to pop by and say I'll be gone for a while.'

Studying Rachel, Quinn considered this. 'I suppose so. But I need your reassurance you won't do anything silly like tell him, or run away, or anything along those lines,'

'Of course not.' The trust Quinn was putting in Rachel came surprisingly easily. 'I shall simply tell him I'm staying with a friend for a while, and not to worry.'

Quinn stood up, slipping her feet into converse. 'And if he suspects something?'

'I'm an actress,' a confident grin, 'And as perceptive as he is, he won't suspect a thing.

The door to Rachel and Kurt's apartment seemed strangely alien, unreal. Glancing back at Quinn's car, innocuous on the quiet street, she had to take a moment before knocking on large brown door.

It was a minute before it opened, but still not long enough for Rachel to prepare herself. When Blaine, hair tousled and clothes casual, pulled open the door, his surprise evident.

'Rachel! Come in! I mean, obviously, it's your place, but: where have you been?'

Kurt appeared from his bedroom, before Rachel had a chance to answer. His eyes widened, mouth opening slightly. 'You're back late,' he finally said, moving to stand next to Blaine, arm finding its way around his waist.

'I… Needed a break.'

'From what?' Kurt asked, not so easily convinced.

'I suppose, everything.' That wasn't entirely a lie. 'Work, and all the failed auditions, the hectic nature of work, it's all so much. Has been for a while. So I went to an old friend's house, stayed there for a while.' She took a breath, the air of the apartment oh-so familiar, oh so seductive. 'And I'm going to carry on staying there. I'm not sure how long. But I'm safe, I'm okay. You guys have nothing to worry about.'

The boys both nodded, Blaine in warm understanding, Kurt in gentle support.

'You've been fired. Just so you know.' Kurt finally admitted, with a sympathetic wince. 'Dani called, after you didn't turn up all weekend.'

'Doesn't surprise me all that much. It was a dead end job anyway.'

Blaine chimed, in, with 'We'll be here. If you ever need us. Just a phone call away, and we'll come running. We don't doubt you're capable and safe and so much stronger than anyone would believe.'

Rachel's face softened, and she pulled both of them into a warm hug, letting it last as long as she could. 'You guys are the best friends I could ever ask for, you know that, right?'

'Only because of you,' said Blaine.

'We know, yeah,' said Kurt.

As they sat in a queue behind a red light, Rachel fiddled with the stiff knobs of the tuners, feeling through static to find a radio station.

'How did they take it?' Quinn finally asked, tapping her fingers on the wheel to a mysterious beat.

'Reasonably well. They left the door open to my returning, but seemed to understand I need time.'

They started to move again, and the trees on the side of the road turned into a blur of greens.

'I guess that means you're free to eat me without worry, if you even had any before.'

Rachel didn't notice the frown Quinn gave as she looked at Rachel for a moment.

'I suppose so.'

Quinn retired to her bedroom early that night, mind swimming with confusion and choices. It rained again, and the sound was soothing, sending her to sleep fast.

That was how she missed Rachel sneaking out of her room, into the kitchen. Opening the door to the fridge twice her height, a blast of artic wind hitting her robed body enough to give her deep shivers.

Heart pounding, Rachel found a tray, with a decidedly human leg on it, wrapped tightly in cling film. Pulling it out of the fridge, she was surprised with how heavy it was. Tenderly, she unravelled the cocoon, until the meat, bloody and warm, sat in her hand.

A squeeze, then another.

 _This is what I could end up as_.

She felt fear hit her in the heart. Not of the possible destiny that lay clutched in her fingers, deadly and horrible, but of how fascinated she had grown by it.

She left as quickly as she had arrived, the only evidence of anyone having been there a ball of cling film in the bin and a smooth layer over the dish.


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you to everyone who's read so far - you all give me motivation, and I'm honestly pretty certain if it weren't for y'all I'd take months to update, rather than a few days. Hope you enjoy the chapter, it was an ass to write.

Time moved fast in the house, and soon, summer was in full swing. One morning, Rachel woke up to find her duvet on the floor, instead blanketed by stifling heat. She fast dashed to the shower, cold water saving her.

Walking into the kitchen, she was shocked to find a very naked Quinn, carving up a steak.

'Gonna slow cook it, gotta prepare it now.' She said, in response to Rachel's confused expression.

One long look at Quinn's body, Rachel never going to deny that it was stunning, then she composed herself. 'I suppose it is a pretty warm day.'

'Almost like being in an oven, you could say.'

'Shut it.'

Rachel made to head to the lounge, her mind returning to the book she'd left there the night before, an epic fantasy, layered over an oh so human story.

'This means we're properly roommates now, drama girl.'

'I am leaving.'

Rachel came back that evening, after a long day out, first the park for a run, quick stop off at the pool, then the shops. She carried a large, pink dressing gown, with white spots. Bursting into the kitchen, she threw it at Quinn, who was (as expected) still nude. 'There.'

That's when she turned to see the man on the table, lean, his forearm detached and lying on a grill.

A coil grew in Rachel's stomach, and suddenly the room was alive, throbbing, her head suddenly filled with pitch black mist.

She'd been so focused on Quinn, so intent on their connection, that she'd forgotten the crux of it all.

'I have a feeling you don't want to watch this. Could you kindly put this outside my room? I got some new books, they're on the bookshelf in your room. Perhaps you'll find them of interest.'

Rachel picked up the gown and held it under one arm, left the room. She realised her skin was bubbled with chills, and that she had been staring at the progress the knife made through the man's chest.

Rachel considered herself a voracious reader.

From as soon as she could move, she had been fascinated by books, opening them to mimic her fathers. The letters never made any sense to her, but somehow she knew they had _something_ within then, otherwise, why would her daddies love them so much?

It had been when Rachel was 5 years old and LeRoy went away for 6 months that she really began to love them. Hiram, knowing his daughter was down, had begun reading to her, every night. He started with story books, old fairy tales. Soon, they worked their way through a heavy anthology, and then another, until they ran out. It wasn't long until they'd moved on to Narnia, and Rachel drank it up.

When there was no more fiction appropriate for Rachel, not in the entire house, Hiram promised to buy more tomorrow. He apologised for the lack of story that night – but was surprised and amused soon after when an indignant Rachel dropped a textbook on chaos theory into his lap.

Thus began her habit of reading anything she could, regardless of genre or content.

Reading was her escape, her distraction from everything.

Reading couldn't distract her today, and there was no escape from what she was feeling.

Quinn had left the kitchen door open, as usual. Rachel sat at the end of the corridor, around the corner, spying. _Spying. Like I'm a kid trying to find out their birthday presents._

The end of the table was visible through the door, and there Quinn stood now, her back turned away from Rachel, unknowing.

Despite herself, Rachel took a moment to admire Quinn's nude form. Her hair, up in a high pony, the soft movement of her shoulders as she cut through meat. Her spine, in the centre of a toned back. The round of her ass, smooth and firm. Long, powerful legs, stretching as she walked around.

A flush grew on Rachel's face, and she kept staring, right until Quinn moved to the left slightly.

In a flash, Rachel was back around the corner, pressed against the wall, dead silent. A moment went pass, then another, and she let out the breath she had held, relaxing slightly, her heart still pounding. Slowly, she peered back, and saw Rachel handling more flesh, Rachel couldn't tell where from.

Quinn's fingers were careful, separating the meat out into small strips, placing them in a Tupperware box.

Her eyes were focused on the redness between her fingertips, brow furrowed. This was her world, contained in the strings of vessels and sinew. A thrill went through Rachel, before she could supress It. She had always been excited by passion, by _focus_ , and though the situation was still alien, the feeling was all too familiar.

Quinn began to wrap the corpse up now, first in clingfilm, then twine to secure it. There was still meat on it, Rachel guessed, that Quinn didn't have time to harvest today. From what she knew of Quinn, (and she was often reminded of how little that was,) the woman was efficient and enterprising, and never wasteful. She was the sort to use old vodka bottles as vases, and human bones for stock.

'Really need to get a meat locker…' Rachel heard Quinn grumble, as she struggled to fit the leftovers into the freezer, huge as it was. When she finished, she closed it with satisfaction, and wiped her hands on a towel. 'Like tetris, but more delicious. Speaking of.'

Rachel couldn't help it, when Quinn bent over to open the oven, her eyes widened and she _stared_ , feeling for all the world like a teenager.

She was in such a daze, that when Quinn stood, turned, and jumped slightly, Rachel simply smiled, before remembering exactly what she had been doing. This wasn't her checking out a crush, this was her watching someone dismember a body for sustenance.

The bedroom, warm and soft, called to her as sanctuary, and she locked the door tight, burying her head in the pillows.

Instead of one, continuous dream, Rachel's were disjointed, messy, all mist and cotton wool in her mouth.

There was one thing binding them together, though. A tall blonde woman eyes of fierce hazel.

She was strutting down a bustling school corridor, clad in a red skirt, disapproving of everyone. Looking into Rachel's eyes, and a spark of-

Love, as she wrapped her arms around Rachel. They were nude, on a blanket under the stars. Pointing out constellations and distant galaxies. Nothing around them but-

Peace was the alleged goal, but as they both ran through the metal corridor, Rachel suspected that was a lie. Her friends, allies, clad in white and blue armour were pushed aside with a gesture. Quinn tensed next to her, ready to strike, but in a second Rachel felt something pierce her chest, and her world erupted into-

Fire crackled in the corner of the room, and Quinn was singing, quietly, the most emotional Rachel had ever seen her. Their eyes met, and then their hands did, and Rachel felt a-

Kiss of death. That was Quinn. Skulking through town, immortal, tired. Never wanting to hurt, it coming naturally. People feared to hear-

A knock at the door, then another. Rachel groaned softly, willing it to go away.

The lock was louder, breaking through the brittle shell of sleep.

It took a minute for Rachel to get up, and she didn't bother to dress, merely holding her duvet in front of her naked body. Opening the door with her other hand, she nodded by way of greeting at Quinn, freshly showered and in a body towel.

'I'm going to cut to the chase, because I know you don't appreciate bullcrap. You were staring. Don't- don't deny it. You were. All I need to know, is why?'

'I don't know.' It was true. It was the biggest truth Rachel had, right now. 'I honestly, completely don't know.'

'Let me make it easier for you then.' Quinn stepped into the room, and sat on Rachel's bed, keeping the towel secure. 'Were you staring out of fascination with me, or with what I was doing?'

Rachel joined Quinn. The space between them was fairly small, but at that moment, she felt she could park a space shuttle in it.

'If I'm honest, which I know is the best to be right now, both. You're stunning. In another life time, I would have no reservations, and just stare.' She had to take a breath, 'And the way you work, it is fascinating. Horrible, and sickening, but also everything more than that.'

Quinn chuckled, and a small smile formed. 'Honestly, you're just making me think how if I wasn't' _this_ ,' she patted her mouth, 'You'd want to make love to me.'

It was Rachel's turn to laugh, but where Quinn's had been well meaning, loving, Rachel's was sardonic, bitter. 'That much is obvious. My problem? If you really want to know? I realise I'm wanting to anyway.'

A small _oh_ flashed in Quinn's eyes.

'And now you're being quiet, and so I'm starting to feel you probably should stick me in that fridge, just to break the awkwardness that I'm sure will never leave.'

Quinn shook her head, gently, kindly. 'I have a better idea,' she murmured, and moved closer to Rachel.

'Quinn. I. I don't want this if you don't mean it. If you don't understand _completely_ my reservations. How I look at you, and I see two things. I see Quinn, the woman who listens to vinyl and dances naked on hot days, and who buys me books because she knows I read so fast that I'm always looking for more.' Rachel wanted to kiss Quinn at this, but it wasn't right, not yet. 'And I see **Quinn** , the woman who kidnapped me, who sees my legs and thinks about how they'd taste, Quinn, who eats people.'

Rachel looked at Quinn, her eyes wildfire. 'And I want both. Somehow, somehow I want both.'

Their lips met, Quinn's eyes going fast from surprised to closed, and suddenly they were each other's worlds.

What little they wore ended up on the floor, and Rachel's fingernails carved down Quinn's back, marking her. Greedily, she sucked the love out of Quinn, replacing it with her own brand. A gentle brush of Quinn's ass, then a squeeze.

Quinn let Rachel take control, somehow unsurprised. Soon, she lay on her back, Rachel's left hand on her breast, her right between her legs, slick with moisture. Energy crackled under her skin, and before she knew it, Rachel was laying back, legs parted.

Blonde hair was sleek under Rachel's fingers, and she gripped it roughly, pulling Quinn's face down to between her legs. Eager tongue and talented fingers worked at her, and she closed her eyes, burying her head back into the pillows, left hand on her breasts, right still cupped around the back of Quinn's skull.

The rush builds up, a tidal wave, lighting, the love of Quinn.

When they fall asleep again, exhausted, enriched, and certainly more experienced, Rachel doesn't dream again. There's just a warmth, a comfort, and the occasional glimpse of loving Hazel eyes, peppering kisses across her skin.

What happens next? Is Quinn a nudist? Will Rachel join her? Probably not to both, though if someone wants to write _that_ fic, I'd happily read.


	5. Chapter 5

'I want you to dance with me.'

Quinn looked up at Rachel, from an old, battered copy of _Prisoner of Azkaban_ , and had to look again. The dress Rachel wore was a sparkling emerald, a shade darker than Quinn's eyes. Her arms were bare, and the dress came to her feet. A sarcastic comment almost left Quinn's lips, but she held it back, decided that no, not now, not this moment.

'You didn't have to go to these lengths to make me dance with you, Rach.'

Rachel's smile was as radiant as the rest of her. 'Of course I didn't, Quinn, don't be ridiculous. I just wanted to. You're worth the effort.' Her grin grew ever more confident, as she looked Quinn in the eye. 'And I certainly am too.'

The garden was soaked in orange, the light pooling in puddles around them, the only dryness the spindly, green shadows, cast by tall trees. The garden stretched far back, and was surrounded by a fence twice Rachel's height, and bushes even higher. A tree, ideal for clambering up, stood to the left side, and at the end, a thin, mossy greenhouse, currently thick with steam.

They stood on the patio, barefoot, clad in the most beautiful dresses they had. Theatrical it was, for once as much Quinn's influence as Rachel's. One hand held Rachel's tight, the other, cupped her waist. They found an old, battered, battery radio, tuned it to a nameless station.

 _It might as well be tuned to my thoughts_ , Quinn thought, as they slowly twirled, Rachel coaxing Quinn into a rhythmic step. The songs matched Quinn's mood perfectly. Romantic songs that could have been from any era, a little sad, but ultimately hopeful.

They moved faster, not a word between them, the only communication the touch of hands, the flash of eye contact.

Soon, the music was faster, and so were they, twirling. Rachel's movements were well practiced, smooth. It was as if she had waltzed off one of the many books Rachel had on dancing. But there was more to it than just practice, there was the spring in her step, the quirk of a smile as soon as she pulled off a complex move. This, more than the skill, was what kept Quinn in time with Rachel. She may have been less trained, but she had an aptitude, one that Rachel was determined to pick up on.

When they sat on deck chairs, wine in hands, the sun was gone, and the wind had picked up. In any other world, the mood would have been eerie, but for Rachel, after all she had been through, the night was comfort.

For Quinn, the night had _always_ been comfort, never more so than now.

Restaurants were _loud_ , and so _inefficient._ Of course, Quinn didn't say that, she had some semblance of decorum, but still. She was only there because of Rachel.

She'd been _indignant_ , when Quinn had made one too many jokes at the expense of her vegan food choices. Which is how they sat, chatting merrily away, in a boho, rustic restaurant, carved out in its own little space of the city. Rachel had ordered a vegan stir fry, Quinn sticking to a simple salad.

'Of course,' Rachel went on, continuing an anecdote that had kept Quinn's rapt attention. 'The guy was… Reasonably freaked out. I mean, he called himself _Starchild_ , so I imagined that he'd be as outlandish as the rest of us, but alas! Someone broke out the _P!nk_ , and he was shocked at the level of quality to our spontaneous vocal choreography.'

Quinn chuckled, amused by the pride that Rachel couldn't resist, even now. 'So, what happened? Did Starchild escape your musical talents?'

'Of course not, by the time Blaine was belting out _Raise Your Glass_ , (he's excellent at that, puts his own wonderful spin on it, though it could use a touch more irony), he was shredding – is that the word? Shredding on his guitar, it was brilliant.'

'I love your stories.' Quinn said, with a wink, and then at Rachel's glare, 'I mean it! It's like, I only briefly met Kurt and Blaine, and they seemed lovely, but you: you capture your friends so vividly, it's like they're all there, singing along to some show tune. Though, I doubt they'd _all_ enjoy the supporting role you provide them.'

'You truly should write poetry, Quinn,' Rachel's turn to smirk.

'Oh shush. I try to be nice, see where it gets me…'

Their food arrived soon after, crisp green lettuce and bulbous red tomatoes shimmering under the braziers that lit the room. They ate in silence, until Quinn finally looked up at Rachel, quite ready to admit she was wrong.

'This is honestly amazing, Rach,' she said, exuberantly. 'And you look like I've just insulted Barbra.' Quinn arched a brow. 'Spill.'

'It's not bad, per se. It's even quite good. It's just…' Rachel shrugged. 'I could do far better back home, in our kitchen, with some groceries.'

Home. Beaming, Quinn could barely think of anything other than how easily the word had left Rachel's mouth.

'In fact, I think I will.'

They may have been in Quinn's dining room, with tall, calm walls, and a fireplace crackling away, but Rachel had done her absolute most to capture the restaurant experience in a lasagne dish and a set of mint scented candles (sourced, naturally, from a local candle maker, who Rachel assured Quinn used only the finest, most ethical of ingredients.)

Quinn even wore clothes, down to a pair of blood red heels, tall, exuding power.

It was when she brought the first forkful of vegan lasagne to her mouth that Quinn truly, truly understood Rachel's comments in the restaurant.

'Yes. You were, as you almost always are, completely right.'

Rachel beamed – she knew she was anyway, but the confirmation always felt wonderful.

'This is – God, Rachel, this is divine!'

'I admire you being so articulate upon receiving the best meal you've had yet. I expect you to join the vegan forums soon.'

'I wouldn't go _quite_ that far,' said Quinn.

Getting out of bed so early had been difficult, Quinn being warm in Rachel's arms, nothing but darkness filtering through the windows.

The summer air meant it wasn't awful, but there was still a chill in the air as they got into Quinn's car, driving down the long pathway to the front gates, and onto the empty roads.

But it was worth it, for two reasons.

One, the view of the sun rising over the far distant horizon, from on top of the chilly, red mountaintop.

Two, the view of Quinn, in long jeans and a hoodie, drawing with so much detail the city in the distant, consuming the thick paper with thin lines of graphite.

When the first page was filled, Quinn turned around to face the other side of the mountain, still wearing a thin duvet of night, though it was fast melting away.

Rachel sat, arm around Quinn's waist, in silence, as her lover captured the landscape. The only noises were the scratch of pencil on paper, their breathing, and the chirrups of morning birds.

Once the sun rose fully, they spent the day exploring the area, climbing down the mountain into a steep valley, bright light breaking through the treetops to caress the soft, dry dirt below.

It was dark once more by the time they got home, and they were sore from the long walk, a satisfied ache burning through them. As they fell into slumber, the last thing Rachel was conscious of saying was 'You draw me next.'

The sofa was soft, something Rachel was grateful for. She'd sat on it before, of course, enough that it was almost her sofa – but she was never as aware of the softness as she was now, laying on her side, nude.

Once they'd gotten the entirely obligatory _Titanic_ jokes out of the way (Quinn had never been with any French girls, though she nursed a childhood crush on Fleur Delacour), Rachel had impressed upon Quinn the seriousness of her request.

'If you can capture the beauty of this earth in such fine detail, you can certainly do something with my considerable, if not wonderful, own beauty.'

It had already been an hour, and Rachel was aware of her concentration slipping. Twice, already, Quinn had glared at her to stay still, and so she did, her mind exercising the energy away for her. She was dancing on a beach, then soaring between the stars, then posing nude for a stunning artist-

Oh. She didn't really need to fantasize about that scenario. A smile played on her lips, just as Quinn stood, hands grimy with pencil marks. 'As finished as it'll ever be,' she stated, to Rachel's unasked question.

In the drawing, Rachel was smiling. It was a small smile, not the pearly white grin she saved for photos. The smile she saved for loved ones. The one that, she realised, only Quinn had seen in a long time. Her body had been captured in detail, but she found it not exposing, but truthful. This was who she was, completely.

Quinn understood her far better than any photo ever would.

They hung it up in the living room, between an old film poster and a painting of the Italian coast, Quinn promising to take Rachel where she bought it one day.

Rachel supposed, if they ever had guests, they would see it, but she didn't mind. All they would be seeing was their connection.

When they danced again, it was amongst others. It was a Friday, and they'd been impulsive. One short taxi ride later, they found themselves in a small, bustling club.

It didn't take long for Quinn's world to turn to water, and Rachel found herself pulling the artist away from a highly amused pair of women, one dark haired and one blonde.

They'd interpreted Quinn's stares as checking them out, and Rachel decided that could all wait until another day.

The next hour found Rachel on a makeshift stage, really just an upturned collection of beer crates, leading the crowd in a stunning rendition of _Livin' on a Prayer._ They'd vetoed anything _Funny Girl,_ for some reason.

Quinn would have never called it making out. But that's exactly what Rachel accused her of instigating, as they were asked politely, then not so, to leave.

Another club, another group to sing to, and they did.

The lights had grown low, last orders had been called. As everyone else began to leave, Rachel and Quinn danced slowly to a love song, oblivious to the rest of the world around them.

They found themselves home, truly, fully, fiercely home, stripping each other off and falling into each other's arms, worlds, lives.

Last orders had been called. But they'd make this drink last all summer.


	6. Chapter 6

I want to say thank you to everyone who's chosen to read, review, even just look at this silly little fic. The fact that some people, no matter how few, are enjoying this, is truly humbling. It really is you who keep me writing.

It was a lazy Wednesday morning. The sun had long since risen, but Quinn and Rachel lay in bed, entangled in each other's arms, listening to the quiet music that flowed from the radio. They spoke little, and kissed much.

But they knew it wouldn't last. Neither of them had the capacity to stay in bed all day, not even with each other.

They had planned to sit in the garden and read, but as Rachel stepped towards the door, thunder cracked.

'Well. I imagine that's out, then.'

The rain hit the window in small globs, scattering into tiny dots through which the light bent into rainbows. Rachel walked back to Quinn, and they cuddled together on a small armchair, content for a while.

'You really are stunning, Quinn breathed, her eyes warm, as she gazed down Rachel's bare form. 'The most stunning there is.'

A long time ago, Rachel would have blushed at such a compliment. Instead, she just smiled, captured Quinn's lips in a soft kiss.

Pulled back, the taste of Quinn's lips still pressed against hers.

Quinn was staring at Rachel, eyes raking down her body. Rachel felt pride swell in her chest, and dropped her book, hearing it gently _thump_ onto the floor.

Another kiss, then, and another. Teeth grazed against lips.

They broke apart, and Rachel raised her brow. 'We're really doing this now, Quinn?'

A frown grew on Quinn's face. 'Only if you want to. We don't have to. At all.'

Rachel's smile grew, and she laughed, as she pulled Quinn into another kiss. 'That wasn't a complaint.' Her nails dragged down Quinn's back, leaving gentle scratches, and the kisses grew with passion, with want.

Soon, Quinn's fingers found their way between Rachel's thighs, slick with love. Rachel's neck arched backwards, her eyelids crushing together, as she matched Quin's movements, pushing onto each other's hands.

Gasps and pants filled the warm air, and soon Rachel replaced fingers with tongue, working up a rhythm. Quinn gave herself over to Rachel, leaning right back into the chair.

Soon, they lay on the floor, hot with sweat. Limbs entwined, it took Rachel a while to stand up.

'That was, well, wow. As usual. You're very talented, Quinn.'

'You'd know, as you're very talented too?'

Rachel pouted. 'Well. I hope so, but I'd never assume.'

' _Sure_ you wouldn't.'

' _I_ -' Rachel placed her hands on her hips, '-Am going to shower, seeing as you got me all messy.'

Quinn's eyes raked down Rachel's body, appreciatively, resting a second upon her powerful, long legs. 'You enjoy your shower. I'll do the same, I think, then I might pop out for a bit, yeah?'

A nod in agreement, 'Sounds good to me.' Rachel saw Quinn, still staring. The pride returned, but tinged with something else – something _different._

It was hours later when Rachel returned downstairs. Hair from conditioner, with the scent of oranges, she searched for Quinn, having heard the door open and shut twice. _Must be in the kitchen,_ and so she went there in search.

Instead of Quinn, she found a tall, blonde woman, lying nude and fast asleep on the dining table, trussed up.

' _Oh._ ' Rachel murmured, in realisation.

For a while she just sat there, watching as the woman's back rose and fall in time to her breathing, eyes following the ropes down her body. Quinn had tied her up expertly. Even better than she had Rachel, when she had been kidnapped. She supposed Quinn had learnt from the experience, no chance here of secretly wiggling free, the woman being on her front.

But soon, her curiosity started to grow, like kelp in the deep ocean of her mind.

She closed her eyes to focus, saw the dots of red swirl around the inky dark. Squeezing them shut, she saw purples and yellows bloom up, forming nonsense shapes. It was no help, her mind didn't clear.

Eyes open, and a step forward.

The legs were longer than Rachel's, powerful in a different way. Whilst Rachel's were honed from hikes and ballet, this was from someone who not only danced, but was _constantly_ active.

On their own, she knew Quinn would never have been able to resist. She was a leg girl in every sense of the world.

She stood next to the table, now, pressing her palms into it at a backwards angle.

The ass – rump, as Quinn would call it – was toned, firm. Squats, probably. From Rachel's very bisexual point of view, it was stunning. For a moment, she was overcome with the desire to make love to this woman.

In the back of Rachel's mind, she imagined Quinn carving her up, and was shocked when she didn't flinch.

Her back muscles appeared strong, and long shoulders grew into lean arms. Quinn would love those.

When Rachel finally met the woman's face, it was to blue eyes, bright, the sky contained within.

Bewildered, but mainly curious.

Rachel had seconds, and she fast searched for a role to play, and found one all too easily. Strolling over to a countertop, in view, she traced her finger tips down the handle of an ornate knife. 'What's your name?'

'You don't know?'

'If I did, I wouldn't be asking,'

Rachel watched the rise and fall of the stranger's back, as she took a deep breath.

'Brittany. I'm Brittany S. Pierce.' Despite the situation, Brittany was clearly proud of her name.

'Oh, like-'

'No. Like me. Just me! No pop stars at all.'

Rachel found her lips curling into a smile. 'Touche.'

The room was silent for a good minute, and Rachel took care to trace her fingers across the tall spice bottles, glancing between them and Brittany.

'Where is this?' The curiosity in Brittany's voice matched that in her eyes, currently darting between Rachel's face, her bare skin, and the kitchen itself. 'Usually when I'm tied up, it's in a bedroom. With blankets, and cushions, and stuff.'

'So many questions. But I honestly don't really want to know the answer, because it is _rather_ dramatic. And well, probably terrifying, depending on your point of view – complicated, you understand.'

'Nope.' Brittany shook her head as best she could. 'I kinda _don't._ '

'How best to explain.' Rachel picked up a knife, weighed it in her hand. It had a heft to it, and she spun it around, to hold it backwards, jutting out behind her hand. 'I imagine you met Quinn? About my height, blonde, very dry sense of humour.'

Brittany's nod was almost imperceptible, her eyes on the blade as it glinted in the pale yellow light of the room.

'And she invited you along for some reason, you got into her car, and then woke up here.' Rachel's mind wandered back to when she had first met Quinn, to sitting in the car with her, to the sudden thud at the side of her head, and the cloudy mist that followed.

'Let's say… You're here as our dinner guest.'

 _There it was._ Brittany's eyes widened a fragment, blue giving way. She soon relaxed, or at least, appeared to.

'That's way kinkier than my usual bag, but I guess if it turns you on…'

Rachel's mouth widened, she placed the knife teasingly close to Brittany's back, and then let her hands take their natural place upon her hips. 'I am _not_ ,' she made sure to enunciate every word, each syllable popping out into the world as she spoke, 'turned on by this. Not in the slightest.'

Was she? No, that would be ludicrous.

Almost as ludicrous as falling in love with someone who kidnapped her, and ate people.

Rachel shook her head, for her own benefit more than anything. 'No, you are _wrong_ and lewd, and- we're going to move on.' A sigh, and the memory of lying on that exact table. So long ago. 'I'm willing to make this as comfortable as possible for you. In fact, I want to.'

'You could set me free?' Brittany asked, hopefully.

The knife, back in Rachel's left hand, would easily cut through the ropes, bound so tight Brittany could only just wiggle her fingers impetuously. She could slice through, give her some clothes, send her on her way.

She could watch, as Quinn dug this knife into Brittany's calves, slicing them onto a plate, happy as could be.

'Aside from that.'

'Give me a massage? Last request.' Brittany's nose wrinkled. 'They're super relaxing, you have no idea.'

That, Rachel could do.

The room was scented with the suggestion of coriander, rosemary, and thyme. A wide brimmed plastic bowl sat next to Brittany, a thin oil reaching to the top, warm.

Rachel ran a drop between her finger and thumb, before plunging her hands deep into the bath, coating them.

She started at Brittany's shoulders. In her head, Quinn stood behind a table, pointing at said shoulders, clad in a bright pink apron.

 _Shoulders take about 6 hours, best prepared with onions, carrots and celery. Preheat your oven to 220°C…_

Rachel rubbed away knots in Brittany's muscles, feeling her relax under her gentle touch. Watched, as drops created trails, running down Brittany's arms. Rachel's fingers followed.

 _Now, you can roast her arms whole, or braise them, making sure not to let the sauce boil, you don't want to make them chewy._

Rachel shook her head. No, she couldn't be thinking that way. The small of Brittany's back now, that was harmless.

 _Unless you want to roast her whole, of course. That would be complex, but I'm sure you'd find a way, Berry. You're creative like that._

Brittany's ass was as firm as it looked, and Rachel felt her move into the touch. Forgetting herself for the moment, she squeezed gently, a little jealous of whoever Brittany was with, if anyone. This was important, she couldn't neglect it.

 _5 minutes to prep, 12 hours to roast. But so worth it. You'd love that, wouldn't you? Am I tempting you yet?_

Legs. Moving on to legs. Though, these ones would last forever. 'Hip hop, right?' Rachel asked, as she traced circles on Brittany's thighs, getting an affirmative sigh in response.

 _Oh, you_ know _you love legs as much as I do. I don't even need to tempt you with a recipie. You just want to plunge your teeth into-_

No. That wasn't Quinn. Maybe a shard of her, but no. Quinn was a great deal many things, but she was never that blunt.

'There, massage, done.'

The real Quinn wasn't back yet, and suddenly, Rachel felt absurdly lost, waiting for her love to return.

'You're really going to do it, aren't you?' Brittany asked, quietly, intelligence masked behind casual words slipping out.

'I don't know. But I'm not the one in charge here, and if Quinn decides you're dinner, well… You are.'

Brittany smiled, confusing hitting Rachel.

'What? What's so great?'

'Oh, I just realised. I'll be fine. Santana will come get me, soon as she knows I'm gone.'

'Santana?' Rachel's brow furrowed. 'Who on Earth is Santana?'

The front door slammed open, loud enough for Rachel to feel the breeze even in the kitchen. Seconds later, a furious, strong woman tackled her to the ground, her eyes molten rage.

'I'm Santana,' She said, digging her foot into Rachel's back. 'And I don't need to know your name. All you'll be is, well. Dead.'

Look, I'll write some Brittana fluff to make up for it, I promise.

And I just realised, that's a whole chapter where Rach doesn't dress. Oops. She'll have fabulous outfits in chapters to come, I'm sure.


	7. Chapter 7

Rachel struggled, kicking back at Santana, her toes slapping into Santana's strong calves. She turned herself over, sitting up fast, and using the momentum to swing a hit. It glanced off Santana's stomach, but was enough to send her stumbling backwards.

With almost a bounce, Rachel stood in front of Santana.

Santana, who had the knife clutched between her fingers.

Hands in the air, face suddenly ashen, Rachel stepped back once more. 'There's no need to use that. Please, we can be civilised here. You can leave without being hurt.'

Incredulity flooded Santana's face, and she stepped forward. 'Oh, we're way past that.'

Flinching, Rachel's eyes followed the knife, as it moved forward – and instead cut into Brittany's ropes. Brittany stood, and then, fast as lightning, grabbed Rachel's arms. Joined by Santana, they pushed Rachel down onto the table, sharp metal point of the knife, digging slowly into the small of her back, precluding any movement.

Finally taking a moment to breathe, Santana looked at Brittany, her eyes far more tender than her hands. 'What were they going to do to you?'

Considering this, Brittany walked over to the side of the table, feet leaving small footprints of marinade. 'I think she was gonna _eat_ me, her and the other one.' She picked up a bundle of thick twine, leaf green. 'Cook me up and eat me.'

If it hadn't been for the present and immediate threat, currently thinking fast for a way to escape, Santana would have embraced her girlfriend, tried to show some kind of sympathy. As it was, all she could do was sigh. Not wanting to believe it. Having to.

'We _have_ to get our own back, then,' Santana murmured, understanding Brittany's intend. She held Rachel down, as Brittany began to bind Rachel's arms together, far tighter than necessary. The rope was looped twice around Rachel's stomach, then around her shoulders too.

'We actually have to,' Brittany agreed, and opened the oven. Inside, she found a hefty metal tray, black, kept meticulously clean. It was long enough that Brittany could have laid flat out upon it with space, matching the size of the oven. Santana nodded, and Rachel felt ice shatter inside her, little shards travelling through her body.

Rachel was laid on her back upon the tray, hands at her navel. With effort, Santana and Brittany held her legs still, supressing the violent kicks with a threatening knife pressed against her ribcage. They bound them, first to each other, then the calves to thighs, and finally, the ankles to her wrists.

The oven door was opened, other grills cleared out, leaving just a gaping space, like a toothless, voracious mouth. It swallowed Rachel up, as she was carried over and slid into.

The fight was gone from her. Not forever, certainly not, but as the door shut with a heavy thud, and the click of the oven lock, she knew it would take a moment for it to return.

The fan began with a tired whirr. The light flickered on wearily, yellow light causing Rachel to squint for a moment as her eyes adjusted. It was still cold, and would take a while to heat up. She had no idea, of course, what temperature they had set it to, but she'd seen that it built slowly but surely. Soon, it would be stifling.

She listened to her executors, as they walked around the kitchen, words muffled by the thick block of glass and metal and heat that separated them.

'We can't just leave,' Santana was saying, as she washed sauce off Brittany with a wet sponge, coated in suds from hand soap. 'I mean, we need to find some clothes for you first. Then we'll get out of here.'

'And evidence,' Brittany said, as if it were obvious.'

'Evidence?' Santana frowned. 'Britt, look, what that monster wanted to do to you is horrible, but. It's over now. We don't need evidence. She's gonna die soon, anyway. Don't need the cops knowing about that.'

Brittany considered this, watching water splash on the tiled floor below, a puddle growing around her. 'But like, what if she doesn't? She might get out, or the oven might fail, or she has other, just as hungry, friends who'll swoop in and rescue her?' Her eyes softened. 'We can't let it happen to anyone else. Not everyone has someone like you.'

'That's not our fault.' Santana said. Her girlfriend was too nice sometimes. 'Alright. We'll find something for you to wear, and maybe we'll come across some photos or something.'

They left the room, and Brittany gave one last glance to Rachel, meeting her brown eyes, pupils wide with worry. She smiled at her, a clash of pity and satisfaction, before shutting the door behind her.

It had been a test, really. Quinn had left Rachel with dinner. Someone who'd be truly perfect for the table. And it was exactly at the point where she knew Rachel would recognise that. Then she'd gone out again, headed off to town.

First the bookstore, to replenish her library. Then, a few cds. They'd dance, Quinn decided, whilst dinner cooked. Some make up, and finally, some new pencils. Her art, sold under pseudonyms, always did well. It was what allowed her to live so lavishly. Cooking equipment was never cheap anyway, even when it was just designed for chicken. Humans? It had to be heavy duty, and that cost.

 _Worth it, though_ , and her mouth watered slightly, thinking of who waited for her back home.

As she stood on the escalator, rising back up towards the car parks, Quinn stared out across the mall. It was bristling with life, teenagers giggling over crushes, music flowing out of tinny speakers, tiny little stores nestled between behemoths. The afternoon light filtered down from the high glass roof, illuminating the crowds as they flowed from store to store.

Even the dingy, wet car park felt exuberant in this weather, faded yellow lines marking the spaces. Quinn found her mini, in perfect condition, a bright blue. Not the one she used for hunting that would be far too ostentatious. This was her day car.

She got in, started the engine, and began the drive home, thoughts back to Rachel. Quinn wasn't sure, really, what she was testing. If she was honest with herself, she just wanted to see what would happen if she put Rachel in a room with her dinner, with no Quinn around. Surely, it couldn't be anything bad.

'It's a little short on you,' Santana said of the dress that Brittany wore, standing in Quinn's room.

'We don't have time to be picky, do we? Because some of these clothes are awful, and some are amazing.' Britt rifled through the deep wardrobe, picking out a bright yellow dress. 'Hello, I'm the new youth pastor.' She said, in a sicky sweet voice.

Santana laughed, and pulled out a red dress, thigh length. 'If you have to put something on, might as well be something hot.' She decided, handing it over. Reluctantly, Brittany slipped into it, hitching the straps over her shoulders and letting them snap.

'Good enough for me,' she said, winking at her reflection in an ornate full length mirror, the reflective glass bordered with silver carvings of ocean animals.

'Let's have a snoop,' Santana decided, taking her girlfriend's hand and walking out into the corridor.

They must have placed it on a low temperature.

The oven was hard to breathe in now, the air hot in Rachel's lungs, but it didn't sear yet. The tray was getting uncomfortable, but she wasn't dead yet.

But if she didn't get out soon, she might be.

It wouldn't be the burn of fire, no. It would be slower than that.

Rachel supposed, gazing into the piping that had become her sky, she would fall asleep slowly, in her own fumes. Hopefully she wouldn't start to cook first.

She almost screamed for Quinn, before stopping, and wondering if she would really help her out.

It wasn't the worst way to go, she supposed. It would be peaceful.

She was a star. Of course she would go in a blaze of heat. Her remains becoming energy for life.

With stars, it was on a much larger timescale, but no – she was a star, and thus, would go out like that.

A supernova, in microcosm.

Rachel couldn't help but think, though, that if she were to burn out, she would far rather it be for Quinn.

Pulling into the driveway, the first thing Quinn noticed was the front door wide open. The second was the motorbike, parked over a plant Rachel had bought her.

 _Huh._

Something was afoot.

Even Santana was close to admitting, the library was impressive. Tall ceilings reached from the ground floor to the roof, spindly ladders placed between book cases. Aside from a pair of plush armchairs, and a small table, the room was almost entirely filled with books. The shelves heaved with them, and smaller piles were dotted around the red carpet. A few unopened amazon parcels sat on one of the chairs.

On the table was a cookbook, opened to a recipe on a Berry sauce for roasts. A gold, star shaped post it note was on the page:

 _Rude._ _:(_

Brittany and Santana didn't pay attention to that, though, and were instead searching around for something they could use against the homeowners.

'Nothing but a $50 note,' Brittany complained, throwing said note behind her, and Santana catching it.

'We should get out of here, then, my bike is out front.'

Brittany grinned. 'You totally let me get kidnapped so you could have your hero moment, didn't you?'

'I could totally eat you myself, you know.'

'You so could. And I'd be _awesome._ But you'd miss me!'

Santana smiled, pulling Brittany into a tight hug, sighing into her neck, so glad she was safe. 'Home?'

'Home,' Brittany agreed.

They were almost at the front door, small strip of sunlight on the doormat, when they heard it.

It was a muffled cry, from below them, anguished, and mournful.

Their eyes met, and they knew. 'We can't leave someone here, Santana. We can't.'

It took them both a while to find the staircase, until Santana pushed open a small, white door, leading to a dusty cellar. They walked down the stairs, and found a blonde woman, curled up on the floor, sobbing into her hands.

Brittany frowned, holding back, but Santana stepped forward. 'Hey, hey.' Her voice was calm, quiet. Reassuring. 'What's the matter?'

The woman kept her face hidden, her voice quiet, muffled. 'She said,' a deep sniff '-she said she'd roast me, and use the leftovers for – for stew!'

Santana shook her head. 'It's horrible, I know. But you're okay, now. The woman who was gonna do that, she's gone, now. What's your name?' She stepped forward even closer, half a metre away now. 'What's your name?'

'Kitty… My name – my name is Kitty.' Kitty managed, her voice haggard, throat shot.

'Kitty. Well, I'm Santana, and… You're safe now, Kitty.' Santana placed her hand on Kitty's shoulder, and the woman looked up.

In an instant, Brittany was yelling at Santana to get away, but Quinn was too fast. She pulled Santana to the ground, gave her a sharp, controlled punch to the head, in just the right place to knock her out, but not for good.

Brittany turned, but Quinn caught up fast. She brought her elbow cracking into Brittany's temples, and she joined her girlfriend on the floor.

'Kitty. Hah. She _was_ a good stew,' Quinn mused, remembering it fondly. 'Thank you for letting me steal your name.' She murmured, picking up Brittany.

It didn't take long for both girls to be in the cool meat locker, behind a thick metal door. They were tied up tight, and as they slumbered, Quinn shut the door. Even if they got untied, there was no escape now.

Stepping out of the locker into the kitchen, she sighed in relief. She realised, now it was over, how close that had been. If even one of them had found her spare phone, or even gotten out of the house – she would be dead.

Quinn leant back against the kitchen table, shutting her eyes. There it was. Quiet. Except for a whirring.

She opened her eyes again, turned, and saw Rachel staring at her from inside the oven.

Rachel was alive, thank god, clearly breathing, studying Quinn intently.

Quinn reached up to open the door, before looking again. In the light, Rachel's skin was golden, shining. Unconsciously, Quinn's tongue ran along her top lip, and her hand found its way to the heat dial. Her fingers brushed over it.

After a very, very long moment, she moved her hand across, to the oven handle. Pulling it open, a gentle steam billowed out, and Rachel took grateful gulps of air.

Helping Rachel out, Quinn quickly cut the ropes, helping her love to stand.

They stayed there like that, for a moment, supporting each other, before Rachel planted a kiss on Quinn's cheek. 'Thank you. For saving me. If it weren't for you, I'd be stardust.'

Quinn's smile, small and warm, said everything that needed to be said. 'I couldn't exactly let you cook. Without prep? No, that'd be ridiculous. These girls clearly have no concept of cuisine.'

Rachel laughed, and walked with Quinn out of the kitchen, to one of the bathrooms.

In the back of her mind, she found herself realising she was agreeing. _When I'm cooked, I hope it's better than that was._

 _When?_

Rachel took a deep breath, but pushed those thoughts away. For now, she needed to relax.

Bringing her out of her thoughts, Quinn nudged Rachel. 'Hey. Seems like we've got two dinner guests instead of one, now. Let's decide what to do with them.


	8. Chapter 8

So, this will be controversial, probably. I got a lot of reviews, demanding a lot of different things, and had to balance that with what's best for this story. So… Bear that in mind. More at the end.

Eternal, eternal thanks to Rose, as always. She's just to blame as I am!

Santana was woken up by clank of a heavy lock slowly being unfurled.

The room was hellishly cold, her jeans, now covered in a thin veneer of grime, offering little protection.

Ropes vined around her wrists, legs, body. She pulled, and they pulled tight back – she was bound something heavy. With effort, she craned her neck around, making out a metal shelving unit in the dark, bolted to the wall.

Her feet were bound to Brittany's, who was shifting slightly in her sleep. It was always a struggle to wake Brittany in the morning, Santana resorting to very, very loud music. She'd have felt bad, if it were not for the knowledge that there was no chance of the gentle touch working.

With time and effort, perhaps it could have been loosened. Rust was beginning to creep across the bolts, orange dotting the edges. It would have taken hours. And with the door slowly opening, creaking a tired, grating creak, Santana knew she didn't have that.

Light flooded the room, Santana's eyes squinting together in response. An outline quickly became Quinn. Her edges were silhouetted against daylight, streams of blonde hair flowing angelically around her head, glowing.

Santana allowed herself a glance around the room. It was cleaner than she expected, smelling gently of raspberry soap. Plastic shelves lined the walls, empty for the most part, and a temperature control dial sat next to the door, set at 5°C.

Drawing her eyes the most was a pair of shelves on opposite walls, running parallel from one another. Each was big enough for her to splay out upon. It tugged at Santana's throat, and she looked away, at her captor.

'We're gonna talk.' Quinn sat on the stairs, and faced both girls directly, eyes slowly moving between the two of them.

At the sound of Quinn's voice, Santana felt Brittany stir next to her. Santana brushed her foot against Brittany's as best she could, coiling her toes – _we're okay._

'Talking, in case you don't know, kind of requires mutual participation,' Quinn murmured, amusement bubbling just below the surface.

'Given the circumstances,' and Santana was suddenly wide awake, 'I have to admire your gall. You really think I'll – _participate_ – with anything you want?' Her laugh echoed in the room, filling the air with venom.

Quinn leant forward. Laced her fingers in a criss-cross pattern, met Santana's gaze with intense, searching eyes. 'I won't pretend like I've done anything to justify your cooperation. Quite the contrary. _But_ …' she elongated the syllable. Playfully. 'You're probably going to get bored soon. So you might as well talk. You've got nothing else to do.'

Silence. Then murmured assent. Santana considered it quickly. No way of getting out yet, Quinn could kill them at any time. So, winging it, then. Perpetuating their existence in any way they could.

'Let's start with something nice and simple.' Quinn leant back again, casual, tapping a canvas shoe on the floor. 'How did you find me?'

Santana calmed herself: snapping would do no good. 'I was at this coffee shop with Britt. We were helping them set stuff up for this pretentious poetry reading – just for the cash, really, bunch of boring undergrads. I was in the kitchen, convincing the hipster girl there to give me some free coffee. Came back, no Britt.'

Righteous anger flashed in Santana's eyes.

'So I went out into the street, and what do I see? Some car driving off, Britt in the passenger seat. I couldn't leave my shit there, so I got out, and. You were gone. But that road is pretty direct, wasn't like it was rush hour. Hopped on my bike and drove, caught up on the highway. Saw you turn into the rich area.'

Another breath. 'So, I take the turnoff, go left where you went right. Only one neighbourhood.' She was being generous with that term. It was just 5 houses, close enough together that the nearest street was half a kilometre further. 'Circled round a bit, saw you drive off in _another_ car, happy as can be.' Santana remembered seeing Quinn drive off, window down, shades over her eyes. 'Went to every house 'til I found yours. Crash my bike _right_ into your fence, found your spare key.' Santana blinked. 'Just have to ask. What kind of capitalist cannibal lesbian leaves a spare key under her plant pot?'

'The kind who's so busy planning out every last detail of her cannibalistic escapades, that she sometimes. Forgets. To bring her keys with her,' Quinn admitted, with a laugh.

'Huh.' A nod. 'Fair enough.'

'You break in. See Rachel with your girlfriend, get said girlfriend free.' They'd caught up to what Quinn knew, and she turned to Brittany specifically. 'What were the two of you doing?'

Brittany's voice brought warmth to the room. 'She was giving me a massage.'

'A massage?'

'A super cute massage.'

A small smile tugged at Quinn's mouth. 'Well, of course she was.'

Silence, for a moment, and then 'What are you going to do with us?'

'Haven't decided yet.' Quinn twirled a strand of hair around her forefinger, deliberately glancing at a hook above them. 'Could be anything. I could easily make you into broth, crack open your bones for marrow,' the grin was obvious now, 'it'd be a bit of a waste, though.'

More silence, a chill running down Santana's spine.

'I could even keep you alive, just a thought.' Quinn nodded, eyes darting left as she considered this. 'Place is definitely big enough. I sadly can't let you leave, but, you could stay a little bit. Otherwise...' She used the back of her hand to slice across her soft neck.

'Yeah.'

Quinn shrugged, and stood up. 'I'll let you know when I do.'

It wasn't as bright as it had been when Brittany had first gotten there, but the heat persisted, colonising the town, riding in on thick billows of air.

Brittany pressed her bare feet into the spongy soil, nudged a green shoot ever so gently with her big toe, watched it spring back into place.

A slender snail caught her eye, its trail sparkling across the red paving stones, brown-orange shell catching the sun between deft coils.

Kneeling down, Brittany felt the grass against the skin of her legs. Softly, she cupped the snail, lifted it up from the path. Placed it gently below the leaves of a tall shrubbery. She stood again, watched, as it crawled into the undergrowth, shrinking into the darkness.

'You know, when I offered you clothes, I did mean it.' Rachel said, with a chuckle that wasn't unkind.

'I know,' Brittany confirmed, with a smile. Rested the palms of her hands upon her hips, jutted her hips and chest forward. 'But, I do look _super_ good like this, so, why not?' She gave her most charming grins. _Stupid nudity taboos._

'Well, that is entirely your choice. I can't deny, you are,' a sharp intake of breath, 'stunning.'

'Yeah,' Brittany curled her tongue against the roof her mouth curiously, picking up on Rachel's reaction, the crawl of brown eyes down lithe body. 'I get that a lot.'

Tense, just for a moment, before a determined voice broke it.

'Quinn gave you both tasks. You're to help me plant some veg. Nothing big, but, there's nothing quite like home grown food to go with your meal.'

'Oh! I get it. We're planting the sides to go with you.' Brittany nodded, gesturing for Rachel to go on, getting a Look in response.

'I don't… Anyway. There's a small patch of soil over there, see it? Next to the greenhouse.'

Brittany nodded her assent.

'Let's go plant some stuff, make it look all pretty, too.'

Whilst she ruffled through a draw, in search of a fresh paintbrush, Quinn glanced into the garden. She let herself smile, Rachel clearly gesticulating some dramatic instruction to Brittany.

Santana sat in the living room, one leg crossed over the other. Her left arm supported her chin, elbow on the table. Her right had originally been kept across her chest, but now laid down her side, fingers glancing against the side of her buttock.

Quinn walked back into the room, and took a good look at her guest. She sat down, dipped the brush in an oblong of paint. Carefully, she followed the curve of Santana's foot with her paintbrush. A trail of colour formed toes, then the flat of her foot, and finally Santana's ankles.

'Are we really going to sit here in silence the whole time?'

Quinn looked back up, gently placed the brush upon a soft square of kitchen roll. The paint spread out, illuminating the miniature dips and bumps. 'I didn't want to make things awkward.'

Santana laughed at that. 'Then you shouldn't have kidnapped me. Or, asked to paint me.'

'I didn't kidnap you, though.' Quinn gave a look to Santana. 'Just your girlfriend. And you could have said no.'

Leaning back into her seat, Santana frowned. 'What, so, you expected me to just… Let her disappear off the face of the earth? She's the only thing that makes this earth worth having its face.'

'Would have saved you. You'd be ensured a long, happy life, rather than…' Quinn trailed off, last vestiges of guilt poking her in the heart.

'Rather than you cooking me up next time you get hungry.' Santana's sigh was layered, drawn out. 'I'd rather that, than never seeing Britt again. And you can't tell me you'd not do the same for little miss wandering hands out there.'

Quinn paused at that, her response slipping away as the paint did.

Santana grew satisfied. 'Just finish this painting up, you're gonna earn a few online for it, unless you keep it for yourself. A conscience, or something.'

The realisation took a while to set in. Rachel had woken up, still grateful to be in her bed, safe, above the rooms that had almost been her tomb. It was late, for her, 11am already – pulling up weeds had worn her out, somehow. Quinn's side of the bed was empty, and Rachel slid out of hers.

Picking up the book she had been reading the night before, a battered copy of _Dante's Inferno_ , bought second hand at the book store, placing it back on the bookcase. Not exactly calming beside reading, but fascinating all the same.

Rachel switched a cold tap on, let water flow into a green glass, brought it to her lips. She met her own eyes in the mirror above the sink, hair tousled from the night before, a light tan coating her shoulders, white strips going down them to the larger area across her chest.

It was after her obligatory shower she realised where Quinn was – clattering around with draws in the kitchen.

Oven whirring.

 _Oh._

It was far sooner than Rachel had expected. Though, she wasn't sure when she had expected it to happen – but still, a few more days would have been ideal.

Clothes were put on slowly, meticulously, pulling out folds and smoothing out creases. The hairbrush moved slowly through soft hair, finding the smallest of knots and separating them.

 _Too bad they can't deal with these knots in my stomach._

By the time Rachel walked downstairs, her hair had dried, and it was almost midday.

She took a breath, and entered the kitchen.

Quinn was dressed – for once – though it was old clothes, a novelty shirt, rough, worn jeans. Easily burnt if anything dripped on them.

She offered Rachel a smile, before returning to her focus.

Santana's arm sizzled on a grill, whilst the rest of her was wrapped up, in clingfilm. A leg went into the fridge, her ass, and a plate of sliced meat. Her torso, left arm, and right leg went to the freezer.

Rachel stepped forward, then back. Fascinated, and repulsed.

She looked at Quinn, saw the focus in her eyes, in her soul.

'What clinched it?'

'I… Can I explain later? I really need to focus on this.'

Rachel nodded. The devotion to a task at hand – she could always understand that. Quinn didn't give the meat her focus, it demanded focus of her, drew her in.

The understanding, Rachel realised, had once been borne of sympathy, now, empathy.

'Why the arm?'

'Needed something pretty light, easy to prepare. Just lunch, there'll be leftovers for a snack later.'

'What if… What if there weren't leftovers?'

They sat at the smaller table in the kitchen. The dining room felt too official for this, too ostentatious.

It was only lunch, after all.

Rachel stared at the plate. Let herself imagine it staring back, cunning, fast eyes, more intelligence than they let on.

Felt the deep lack of feeling dissuaded.

'I don't want you feeling like you have to do this,' Quinn said, in a small voice. 'Whatever we have here? Living together? Love, or, whatever it is, it won't be ruined by you being vegan. You can stay who you are, rest of your life. I won't mind one bit.'

'It's not that.'

'Then what is it, Rachel? Without being selfish, I need to know. I need to know this is something you want. Something you almost need. Because as casual as I make it, as much as it's a part of, of my life… It wasn't yours until very recently. And I never thought it would be completely yours.'

Rachel leant over, kissed Quinn. The same way she had, so many times.

Except – kisses with Quinn were never the same. Not once. Similar, in the curl of Quinn's plump lips, the gentle parting of her own, but always unique. Somehow always magic.

Even now.

They parted, and Rachel picked up her fork, slicing a thin, streaky piece of Santana's arm, brought it to her lips.

Brittany went that evening, and Quinn felt a sharp pang of regret, as they slid her into the oven, watched her roast.

For Rachel, it was almost retribution. A revenge, even, for when she had laid in there, unprepared, fearful, accepting the end.

Almost, if it weren't for the way she remembered Brittany's honest laugh.

And the way she grinned, pinching her leg as Santana pushed her deep into the mouth of the oven.

She stood tall, looking down as Brittany slowly heated up.

Quinn had made it almost instructional. Told Brittany that no, you don't just put people in the oven, you _prepare_ them. Rachel had watched, fascinated, enjoying, as Quinn had sliced vegetables, gently sent Brittany to sleep, trussed

They sat in the living room, an hour later, when Rachel caught the scent of meat in the oven, rich, delicious. She felt her mouth water, and caught Quinn staring at her.

'You okay, Rach?' she asked, caring.

'Just, it's all very new. Why the oven? Besides dramatism.'

'It's one of the most stylish ways of it. I wouldn't have, if you weren't eating with me. I wanted your first time to be… Well. Special.' Quinn laughed a little, looking down at her lap. 'Shows how fucked up I am, I imagine, but there it is.'

'Well, yes. You are rather fucked up. But so am I, and I think that would have shown up anyway, even without you.'

They smiled again.

Brittany was almost as beautiful as dinner as she was in life. Rachel had convinced Quinn to indulge in her humour, and so an apple sat between Brittany's red lips, a bed of roast onions, carrots, potatoes below her. The room was filled with steam, and Rachel rushed to the window to open it, the fire alarm blinking dangerously away.

They rolled the trolley into the dining room, ever so carefully lifted Brittany off it, and placed the tray in the middle of the mahogany dining table. Rachel and Quinn sat opposite each other.

The guilt wasn't gone forever, but for now it bided its time, as Rachel and Quinn's eyes feasted upon Brittany, small streams of steam rising from her crisp skin.

Quinn took the carving knife, stood again, stepped towards Brittany.

It was the next day, the both of them still full from Brittany, left overs packed away, when Rachel finally dropped the bomb.

'Why did you choose me?'

Quinn looked up fast from her tea, dropping the small teaspoon with a soft clunk against the inside of the mug.

'Me. That day, so long ago, when you took me back here. What made you want to eat me? What made me someone you had to have?'

Quinn walked over to Rachel, looked her in the eyes, searching. 'Where's this come from?'

Rachel wasn't sure herself. 'It's just – you were right. You were completely right. Santana, and Brittany, they were delicious. They were completely delicious. I simply can't help but wonder, what if it had been the other way around? What if you'd picked up them that day, and me later on? I'd be eaten. The three of you would be sitting here talking about how it's gonna take you a week to finish my legs.'

'Maybe they did deserve it. For breaking in, for trying to kill me. But, what makes them different from me?'

Sitting, Quinn crossed a leg over the other, and nodded. 'You are, of course, stunning. You know that, I tell you it daily now. Very athletic, too. You'd both look beautiful on the table, and have plenty of quality meat.'

'And you were alone. At the park. That told me you were alone most of the time anyway, too. If you'd said you were waiting for a boy,' Quinn made a face of disgust, 'Then sure, I would have left you alone, but no.'

'I kept you around, because…' Rachel realised Quinn was at a loss, and nodded. Understanding even more.

'I just don't know what makes me so different from them. What protects me from being on this table?'

Quinn was clearly unsure, clearly conflicted, for a moment, before looking up at Rachel. 'Me. I can't promise I'll never want to. But I'm reasonably certain, by this point, I'd miss you a bit too much.'

 _There it is_. The glib, easy answer, that wasn't an answer at all.

Except to a question Rachel would never ask out loud.

She looked at Quinn, stepped towards her, pulled her into a hug.

The comfort came rushing back, the warmth. Quinn's arms wrapped around her, and Rachel gave an imperceptible nod.

Maybe Hell would come later. But for this Heaven, it would almost be worth it.

Okay, first disclaimer: I definitely don't hate Santana and Brittany! Anyone who knows me knows I love them. Adore them. Some of my absolute favourite characters.

But this is a story about a cannibal Quinn Fabray, and one of the biggest ideas I want to explore here is how that'd be dangerous. How Rachel is really, really playing with fire here. Like how it could end badly, so, so badly, but it could end brilliantly. This isn't the canon Rachel, Quinn, Brittany, and Santana, that we love so much. It's a very different world, with just the characters the same.

And I have fluffy brittana fic ideas for the future! A hint for one is in here. It's very not serious, and has faberry too. I kind of really, really need them, to… Cleanse myself.

If you hate me? I completely understand. If it's any consolation, at all, this was the hardest thing to write I've had. I think ever. I took ages deciding what to do, how to do it – and this is the result. Inevitably imperfect, and terrible, and trashy – but it's here.

I'll answer questions as best as I can in the comments, and if you don't have an account here, I'm happy to answer anons over at my tumblr – url is tinacohenchang.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to find some brittana fluff smut to cheer myself up.


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